


Enough (or, a history of goodbyes)

by squilf



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Angst, Domestic Violence, M/M, Missing Scene, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Post-Finale, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-22 08:00:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17659031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squilf/pseuds/squilf
Summary: Fall in love with a drowning man. At best, you’ll have to watch him drown. At worst, you’ll drown with him.A history of goodbyes between Merlin and Gwaine, from 3x04 to 5x13.





	Enough (or, a history of goodbyes)

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this to Fanfiction.net and LiveJournal back in 2013, after the _Merlin_ series finale. I am slowly bringing all of my work onto AO3, so, here is the saddest thing I have ever written.

 

**I.**

The first time he leaves Camelot, the first time leaves _Merlin_ , he wants to kiss him.

“People get sick of me too quickly,” Gwaine says, shrugging.

“I didn’t.”

“Even after all the trouble I caused?”

Merlin shrugs.

“You livened the place up.”

And Merlin smiles, his lips full and pink, and Gwaine wants to kiss him, wants to wrap his hands around his wrists and drag him close, wants to pull Merlin’s body against his and kiss him, slow and desperate, like he’s not really leaving at all.

But he doesn’t.

He claps a hand on his shoulder, because he _has_ to touch him, he _has_ to, even if it’s just this.

“Goodbye, Gwaine,” says Merlin, and Gwaine knows, this is it, this is goodbye, and it’s for a long time, maybe forever.

He can’t say _goodbye_ , he physically _can’t_ say the word, because that would mean – well, it would mean goodbye. And that’s not what he wants. He wants to stay in Camelot, he wants to stay with Merlin.  It wouldn’t matter if Merlin didn’t love him. It wouldn’t matter if Merlin didn’t even know he was still there. He’d sleep on the floor at his feet, he’d kiss him every morning before he woke up, he’d stand by the window and watch him cross the courtyard outside to work every morning. He’d watch him and he’d love him and that would be enough.

Gwaine tears his hand away from Merlin and leaves. He’s being stupid. He can’t stay here. He’s going to leave and he’s going to get drunk and he’s going to forget about Merlin because there shouldn’t be a world where Merlin exists and Gwaine can’t exist _with_ him. He risks one last glance over his shoulder before he shuts the door. He should never have looked. Merlin’s standing there, watching him, warmth and loss in his eyes, and he’s beautiful. Gwaine doesn’t want this to be his last memory of him. He doesn’t want to remember Merlin like this, alone and untouched and far away, the way he always has been, the way he always will be.

So he goes back.

“I just realised I forgot something,” he says, shuffling towards Merlin.

“Oh?”

“I didn’t say goodbye to you. Not properly.”

“And… how do you say goodbye properly?”

“Like this,” says Gwaine, and he pulls Merlin towards him by his neckerchief and kisses him for all he’s worth.

Merlin makes a strangled sort of yelp, his hands hovering by Gwaine’s shoulders like he can’t decide whether to pull him close or push him away. Gwaine envelops Merlin in his arms, pressing their bodies together. He doesn’t want to let him go. But he does, slowly, his hands sliding to Merlin’s waist. Merlin is blushing and gasping for air.

“Er… I… Uhm…” he mumbles, “I – I don’t think anyone’s ever said goodbye to me quite like that before.”

Gwaine smirks.

“I’m surprised,” he says, looking Merlin up and down.

Merlin laughs nervously.

“I’m – I’m really nothing special, Gwaine.”

“You really are,” says Gwaine, and he’s surprised at how serious that sounds.

He gives him a grin and adds, “I’m surprised that Arthur can keep his hands off of you.”

Merlin bites his lip and smiles, but there’s a sadness to it. Gwaine sighs.

“And I’m sorry that I can’t.”

He leans in and kisses him again, gentle this time, and slow.

“I want all our goodbyes to be like this,” he whispers against Merlin’s lips, “And maybe even a few of our hellos as well.”

Merlin fixes his eyes on him, autumn morning clear sky blue.

“Gwaine… I don’t know that they’ll be any.”

“Of course there will.”

“But you can’t stay here –”

“And you don’t have to either.”

Merlin shakes his head.

“I can’t.”

Gwaine grips Merlin’s shoulders tightly.

“Yes you _can_ , Merlin. Come away with me.”

Merlin frowns.

“I have to stay, Gwaine, Arthur needs me.”

“ _I_ need you.”

“Well he needs me more!”

Merlin squeezes his eyes shut, opens them again.

“I’m sorry.”

“No,” Gwaine says slowly, letting go of Merlin, “Don’t be.”

He smiles grimly and goes for the door.

“Gwaine…” Merlin calls after him, “If I could, I’d – I’d give you everything you want. It’s just Arthur… I can’t leave him.”

Gwaine stops at the door.

“I understand.”

“No you don’t, Gwaine, you –”

“If he wants you half as much as I do, then… he deserves you.”

He opens the door, gives Merlin one final smile.

“And I don’t.”

“ _Gwaine_ …”

But Gwaine’s already out of the door.

When he’s in the streets outside, he looks back. And there’s Merlin, up on the castle wall, watching him leave. Arthur’s by his side. Gwaine nods, holds his sword up to them. It’s going to be his last goodbye to Merlin. He won’t see him again. He doesn’t know that he wants to. He’s going to leave and he’s going to get drunk and he’s going to forget about Merlin because this is a world where Merlin exists and Arthur is the one who exists with him.

 

**II.**

“Where will you go this time?” Merlin asks, and the words _without me_ hang in his mouth, understood but unsaid.

Gwaine licks his finger, holds it up in the wind. It tastes salty. Merlin blushes, his face turned away from Arthur.

“Think I’ll ride south,” he says.

He doesn’t ask Merlin to come with him. (He did that last night, when Merlin was under him, gasping and writhing and screaming for more.

“Come away with me,” he begged, “Oh, darling, _Merlin_ ,” and Merlin fisted a hand in Gwaine’s hair and said, “I _can’t_.”)

Merlin smiles.

“You can’t keep living like that.”

And Gwaine knows, he can’t. He doesn’t _want_ to keep living like that. He wants to live with Merlin by his side. It wouldn’t matter if Merlin didn’t love him. So long as he was _there_. So long as he existed and Gwaine existed with him. But Gwaine know that’s not the way it goes. Sometimes, living isn’t enough.

“Yeah,” says Gwaine, “But it’s fun trying.”

It’s not fun. When he met Merlin, he’d snatched a glimpse of a life he could have, a life with someone to hold and protect and love, a life with a _meaning_ , something he’s never had – and it had been torn away. He drank to forget and he wept and he told girls in taverns of his lost love and he took them to bed and it didn’t numb the pain, it couldn’t, it just made it worse. He _needs_ Merlin. He needs him like he’s never needed anything. And Merlin won’t give himself to him. At least, not for more than one night.

Arthur kicks his horse on, and Merlin looks after him, but doesn’t follow, not quite yet.

“Thanks, Gwaine,” he says.

Gwaine nods and gives him a weak smile.

“I’d better…” says Merlin, nodding in the direction of Camelot, of _Arthur_.

Gwaine nudges his horse towards Merlin.

“You’re not leaving without saying goodbye properly?”

Merlin looks down.

“Arthur might see.”

“Oh yes,” says Gwaine, stopping beside Merlin, “Can’t let the man you love so much know you let someone else fuck you.”

Merlin stares at him in anger.

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Really? Because that’s what it looked like to me.”

Gwaine hooks a finger under Merlin’s neckerchief, revealing the map of bruises on his neck.

“Good luck hiding those bruises from him.”

Merlin turns scarlet, and Gwaine understands.

“ _Oh_ ,” he says, and laughs.

“It isn’t funny.”

“No. You leave me for an idiot who doesn’t even know you love him, that’s not funny.”

Merlin bites the inside of his cheek.

“I’m curious…” says Gwaine, “Was I your first?”

Merlin laughs.

“There was Will… and Freya. And… well, just don’t think you’re special.”

Gwaine raises an eyebrow.

“You’re a bit of a slut, aren’t you?”

“You would know.”

“And Arthur wouldn’t.”

Arthur’s a good way off by now, and he twists round in his saddle to look for Merlin. That’s when Gwaine grabs him by the front of his shirt and kisses him fiercely. Merlin bites down on his lower lip and digs his fingernails into Gwaine’s shoulder, but he doesn’t push him away, not for a few seconds.

“You don’t own me,” he says, and kicks his horse into a canter.

“And Arthur doesn’t, either!” Gwaine calls after him.

But he doesn’t believe that he’s listening.

 

**III.**

The horses clatter into the courtyard, a rush of dark red capes and glinting chainmail, and Gwaine sees the ones waiting for them, Merlin and Arthur, the servant and the king of Camelot, sitting on the steps as the new knights return with Gwen. Arthur rushes out for her, kissing her like he never wants to leave her side again. Gwaine sees the bitterness in Lancelot’s smile reflected in Merlin’s face, thinks, _why are we all in love with the wrong people?_ But then it’s gone, and Merlin comes over and smiles brilliantly at Lancelot and says, “Hello, _Sir_ Lancelot.”

Lancelot laughs and jumps down, enveloping Merlin in a hug.

“All I’ve heard from the kitchen maids today is gossip about how you’re the most handsome knight they’ve ever seen,” Merlin adds with a wink.

“Well, they’re clearly wrong,” says Gwaine, dismounting, “They’ll realise that once they see me.”

Lancelot’s hands trail to Merlin’s waist before he lets him go, and Gwaine remembers _there was Will… and Freya… and…_

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping for a greeting more along those lines,” says Gwaine, nodding in the direction of Arthur and Gwen, still locked in a tight embrace.

“You and me both,” says Lancelot, and looks down.

Merlin reaches out a hand towards Lancelot, pats his arm with an easy familiarity. Lancelot gives him a weak smile.

“I’ll just…” he says, taking his horse’s reins and heading in the direction of the stables, glancing towards Gwen and Arthur once more.

“I’ll see you at the feast tonight,” Merlin calls after him.

Gwaine takes hold of Merlin’s shirt, runs his fingers along its hem.

“Do you remember how I wanted a few of our hellos to be?” he says.

Merlin raises his eyebrows.

“We can’t all get what we want, Gwaine.”

“We can sometimes,” says Gwaine, and steals a kiss.

Merlin doesn’t give in to it, just lets Gwaine kiss him, nothing more.

“You were much more eager in the Perilous Lands,” says Gwaine.

Merlin shrugs coldly.

“Yeah, well, I thought you’d get over me once I gave you what you wanted.”

“That’s not what I wanted.”

“You didn’t seem to be complaining.”

“I _did_ want it. I still do. But – Merlin, I want _you_. All of you. Do you think I’d be here if I didn’t mean that?”

Gwaine folds his hands over Merlin’s.

“Because I do. With all my heart.”

Merlin shakes his head.

“You’re asking me for something that I can’t give you.”

His eyes flick towards Arthur, beautiful and golden and utterly lost in Gwen. He takes his hands away from Gwaine.

“Something I can never give you. I can’t give you all of myself because it doesn’t belong to me, not anymore. It’s not mine to give.”

Gwaine surges towards him, takes Merlin’s head in his hands.

“Merlin, it would be enough to just _exist_ with you.”

“No, it wouldn’t. I _know_ , it wouldn’t.”

“ _Please_ –”

“Just – forget about me. Forget you ever loved me.”

“I _tried_ , Merlin, but I can’t. I _can’t_.”

“Yes, you can. And you will, or I’ll break your heart. And you don’t deserve that.”

“You’ve done that already, Merlin. Whether I deserve it or not.”

Merlin steps away.

“Not many of us get what we deserve, Gwaine.”

(And if that night, Gwaine gets drunk and takes a maid to his bed, well then, he’s just doing what Merlin’s told him to. Forget. Or try to.

It doesn’t work.)

 

**IV.**

Merlin gives in on Arthur’s wedding night. After a year of distance, of Gwaine sleeping in a bed so empty he had to fill it with someone else just so he could sleep, of kissing maids and ladies, of standing by the window and watching Merlin cross the courtyard outside to work every morning. He watched him and he loved him and that wasn’t enough. Sometimes, living isn’t enough. (And if Gwaine ever caught Percival looking at him, after that night, that mistake, he just thought _not you too_ , because love is a kind of pain that no-one deserves.)

And then it’s Arthur’s wedding feast and there’s a space where Lancelot should be, a space that will never be filled again, because Lancelot didn’t get what he wanted, or even what he deserved, because he sacrificed himself for Merlin who would have sacrificed himself for Arthur who would have sacrificed himself for Camelot, and it’s a bloody mess, a tangle of love and fear all knotted up together, and Merlin leans over to fill Gwaine’s wine goblet and whispers, “Your chambers,” in his ear.

Gwaine doesn’t have to be told twice.

(“I missed you,” he breathes against Merlin’s skin, “I missed you so much, oh, darling, _Merlin_ ,” and Merlin fists a hand in his hair and says, “Shut up.”)

Afterwards, he kisses Merlin, slow and devoted, like he’s never touched something so beautiful. His hands, the narrow fingers, the blunt nails. His neck, the hard collarbone, the soft flesh. His lips he kisses most of all. And this is everything he wants in the world, to have Merlin, here, like this, to simply be here and _love_ him. He has it for all of ten minutes.

“I have to go,” says Merlin.

Gwaine pins him to the bed by his wrists.

“No. You don’t. You have to stay here and let me kiss you.”

He kisses Merlin, but he whines and wriggles away.

“What’s wrong?” Gwaine asks.

Merlin laughs, a short, sarcastic bark.

“What _isn’t_ wrong? It’s all fucked up. _Everything_. Everything is wrong.”

“It can’t be. Not when you’re here with me.”

Merlin pushes Gwaine away.

“That’s exactly what’s wrong!”

Gwaine stares at him, stung.

“But it’s not. You don’t _feel_ wrong.”

“But _you_ do,” says Merlin, and slips out of bed.

Gwaine grabs him, pulls him back in.

“Let go of me,” Merlin protests, but Gwaine doesn’t.

He pushes Merlin back on the bed and wraps himself around him, holding him tightly, skin to skin.

“It’s alright, Merlin,” he says.

“It’s _not_! It’s bloody –”

“ _Ssh_. Quiet now.”

Merlin cries, quiet and broken, his body shaking with sobs, and Gwaine holds him because he doesn’t know what else to do. He murmurs promises into his skin, _I’ll be here_ and _I’ll protect you_ and _I’d do anything you asked of me_ and _I love you_ , over and over. And finally Merlin stops crying.

“This was a mistake,” he says.

Gwaine presses a kiss to his forehead.

“If it is,” he says, “It’s the best mistake I’ve ever made.”

When he wakes up the next morning, Merlin’s gone. Maybe he’d kissed him goodbye before he woke up. But somehow, Gwaine doesn’t believe he did.

 

**V.**

Gwaine wakes up with his sheets tangled around his waist and the sound of rain hammering against the window. He sighs, reaching his hand out across the bed, to the space where he left Merlin sleeping last night. He isn’t there. He’s used to that now. He never is. Three years and he still slips away each morning, like a visiting shadow.

“I’m here,” says Merlin.

Gwaine opens his eyes. Merlin is silhouetted in the window, looking blankly at the grey city outside, tinged with the first light of the day. There are miles and years between them.

“What are you doing there?”

“I can’t sleep. Something’s coming. Something big.”

“Come here.”

Merlin doesn’t move. Gwaine runs a hand through his hair and shoves the sheets to one side. The wooden floor is cold on his feet as he pads across the room. He wraps his arms around Merlin’s waist and kisses the space just below his ear.

“I’ll be here, Merlin,” he whispers, “I’ll protect you. Whatever it is.”

“Don’t protect me. Protect Arthur.”

Gwaine laughs, presses a kiss to Merlin’s neck.

“I’m not in love with Arthur, though.”

“No,” says Merlin, and his voice is distant, “You’re not.”

He takes a breath.

“But I am.”

And that’s it. The cold, hard truth. It hurts more than something that you’ve known for years should.

Gwaine shuts his eyes, holds Merlin tighter.

“I know,” he breathes.

“I’m sorry.”

“No. Don’t be,” says Gwaine, and shoves Merlin up against the wall.

He fists his hand in Merlin’s hair, pressing his face up against the cold glass.

“ _I’m_ sorry, Merlin,” he says, the words torn out of his mouth, “I’m sorry I ever looked at you. Because I have _wished_ I hadn’t since the day we met.”

He leans in, whispers against Merlin’s ear, his breath hot, “All this time. All this time, and you _still_ can’t love me.”

Merlin swallows thickly.

“You can’t choose who you fall in love with.”

“Oh, and don’t _I_ know that.”

Gwaine tightens his grip on Merlin’s hair. Merlin makes a low cry. _Good_ , Gwaine thinks, and digs his nails in.

“It’s just too much to ask for, isn’t it, for you to love me? It’s just – it’s just too much.”

Gwaine smiles, a small, twisted thing, the hurt burning through in his eyes.

“Yes,” Merlin bites back, “I _told_ you. It _is_.”

“Don’t I deserve it? Is that it? Have I not tried enough? Because believe me, Merlin, I have _tried_. Everything I do is for you, and _you_ – you just think I’m an idiot.”

“I _don’t_.”

“Well, you fucking treat me like one. You come to me at night and leave by dawn. You think that’s enough? You think I only want you by night? I don’t. I want _you_. All of you. _Always_.”

“And that’s what I can’t give you!”

Merlin wrenches himself away from Gwaine’s grip.

“We can’t all get what we want, Gwaine! You think _I_ don’t know that too?”

Gwaine shakes his head, stepping close to Merlin, crowding him in.

“I try not to think about it. Because it breaks my heart.”

Merlin doesn’t flinch away. He just looks straight at Gwaine, and says, his voice breaking, “It’d break mine too, if there was any part of it left that wasn’t already broken.”

Gwaine sighs, burying his head in his hands.

“I’m tired, Merlin. I’m… I’m just so fucking _tired_.”

Merlin puts his arms around Gwaine’s neck, warm and forgiving, and Gwaine leans into him.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

Merlin strokes Gwaine’s hair.

“You never had me.”

Gwaine stiffens, and Merlin takes his hands, pulling them away from his face.

“And you never will.”

Gwaine feels the fabric of his heart ripping.

“Merlin…”

“Protect Arthur. He needs you by his side. Now more than ever.”

“But –”

“If you love me, you’ll protect Arthur.”

“You know I’d do anything you asked of me.”

Merlin softens.

“I know,” he breathes, and kisses him.

It’s soft and it’s short. It’s goodbye. Merlin smiles, a small, lopsided thing.

“If I could, I’d give you everything you want.”

“It’s just Arthur,” says Gwaine, “I understand.”

Merlin nods, and his hands slip out of Gwaine’s. He steps away.

“I just wish I could believe he deserves you,” says Gwaine, “Because I don’t.”

Merlin stops.

“You know, I don’t either.”

“How will I live now, Merlin? How can I ever live without you?”

Merlin shrugs.

“I don’t know. But you will.”

 

**VI.**

When he takes Merlin to the Valley of the Fallen Kings, he has a sick feeling in his stomach. Merlin warned him that something was coming, something big. Well, it’s come. There’s something about Merlin now, all brittle and taut, raw energy kept on edge. He’s terrified. But it’s not Gwaine he’s scared for. It’s Arthur. They travel and they don’t speak.

(Well, apart from once.

“Eira,” says Merlin, and he doesn’t need to say anything more.

“I was angry,” Gwaine says, doesn’t apologise, because he shouldn’t, he doesn’t need to, “And then I was just… empty.”)

Once they get there, Merlin tells him to leave.

“What are you looking for?” Gwaine asks.

Merlin doesn’t look at him.

“I can’t tell you that, Gwaine. You just have to trust me.”

Gwaine knows that he loves Merlin, the certainty of it weighing heavy on his heart. But he doesn’t know that he trusts him. After all this time, he’s never had what he wanted – he’s never had all of Merlin. Just snatches of him, the parts he could give, the parts he had left. He’s never really _known_ him. He’s had to work him out, trial and error. And this is the man he loves. The man who’s shared his bed for years. The man he’d die for. He doesn’t even know who he is.

“You should get going,” says Merlin, turning around, “Arthur will need you by his side.”

Gwaine looks at Merlin, steady and serious.

“Take care of yourself, Merlin.”

Merlin takes his hand. And then he smiles. He really _smiles_ , beautiful and brilliant, like he hasn’t smiled in so long. For a moment, Gwaine sees the boy he fell in love with, young and hopeful and happy, not the cold, bitter man he’d become. He fell in love with a drowning man, and he had to watch him drown. And he doesn’t want to watch anymore.

“I just _wish_ ,” says Gwaine, “That you could have loved me. I could die happy, if I knew I was loved.”

Merlin swallows thickly.

“I wish that I loved you, too.”

And for once, Gwaine can truly understand what Merlin meant, all those years ago, when he’d said _it isn’t enough_.

True love isn’t meant for people like him. It’s meant for people like Lancelot and Gwen, people like Merlin and Arthur, their fates bound inexorably together, even if they’re too stubborn or stupid to realise how they feel. It’s just something that Gwaine was never meant to have. He doesn’t know that he’ll survive the battle. He doesn’t know that he wants to.

 

**VII.**

Merlin comes back to Camelot with his world torn to shreds. He walks until his feet bleed and the pain barely registers and Arthur is dead. He can’t feel anything anymore. He’s numb. The moment he steps inside the castle gates he collapses. He wakes up and he’s alone in his little bed and Arthur is dead. Everything is wrong. _Everything_. He curls onto his side and he cries and cries and Arthur is dead. Gaius steps into the room.

“It’s alright, Merlin.”

“It’s _not_!” Merlin screams, and Gaius sits on his bed and puts a hand on his shoulder and Arthur is dead.

“I am so proud of you, Merlin,” says Gaius, stroking Merlin’s hair, “Of everything you have done.”

“I’m not.”

“Perhaps not now. But in time, you will see the man you’ve become. The man I see. And you will be proud.”

“I gave _everything_ for him. And he’s still – I couldn’t save him. I just – I wasn’t enough.”

“You did more than enough, Merlin. You always have. Everything you have done has been for Arthur, and for Camelot.”

Merlin shakes his head.

“It hasn’t. I’ve been selfish, Gaius, I didn’t _think_ …”

“It isn’t selfish to fight for the king you love. It’s what all of Camelot did, its people just as much as the knights.”

Merlin groans.

“Oh, God. _Gwaine_. I need to – he must _hate_ me.”

“I doubt you could find a purer heart in any man, not even Lancelot,” Gaius says sternly, “He did nothing but love you.”

“But I haven’t loved him.”

“Of course you have, Merlin. I know you, and I know your heart.”

“I don’t know that I did. Or that I do now.”

“Nor does anyone who is in love.”

Gaius looks down at Merlin, his face grave.

“You’ve been so brave, Merlin. You’ll have to be braver still. Grief is a powerful force. It can only be beaten by holding onto what the ones that loved us wanted us to have.”

Merlin frowns up at him.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Gwaine’s body is laid out in the great courtyard, along with the other knights. They’ll burn them all at nightfall, the pyres lighting up the city. Merlin doesn’t have much time. He kneels by Gwaine’s side and cries, head bent down towards him.

“I’m sorry, Gwaine,” he says, “I’m so, _so_ sorry.”

And he leans down and kisses him, his lips dead and cold.

“I never deserved you,” he whispers, leaning their foreheads together.

He looks up when he hears footsteps. It’s Percival. His face is streaked with tears, and he’s carrying a small bunch of wild flowers.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I’ll – I’ll go.”

“No. Stay.”

Percival comes closer, lays the flowers on Gwaine’s chest.

“I just wanted to – give him these,” he says.

Merlin nods numbly.

“Were you with him?” he asks, “When…”

“Yes. He – he tried to defeat Morgana. He was trying to protect the king. But…”

Percival sighs, the breath rushing out of him, as if he’s trying to keep himself from crying.

“I’m sorry. He wasn’t to me what he was to you.”

Merlin looks at Percival, strong and true, and thinks _maybe he should have been_. But what’s happened and what should have happened are two very different things.

“You must have loved him very much,” Percival adds.

Merlin brushes a strand of hair out of Gwaine’s face.

“But that’s just it,” he says, “I didn’t.”

And that night, they light the funeral pyres, and Gwaine’s body burns and turns into ashes and dust and smoke that blows away in the wind, and every piece of him is destroyed. Merlin feels pieces of himself being destroyed as well. Gwaine was all that was good in Merlin, he was light and laughter and love. And without him, that’s all gone. Sparks fly from the fires, lighting up the black sky. Merlin cries and he doesn’t know who his tears are for.

Gaius puts a hand on his shoulder, stands by him.

“How will I live now?” says Merlin.

“I don’t know how,” says Gaius, “Just that you will.”

Merlin covers his hand with his mouth and screams. He can see his life stretching out before him, a dull, empty void. No Arthur. No Gwaine. He’s survived curses and battles and beasts, but he’s alone. He’s alive. But sometimes, living isn’t enough.


End file.
